11 thoughts on “My mom’s favorite was a hard tined rake…”
Wooden spoon.
Yep, the wooden spoon was the inplement of choice. Mom was also quite skilled with a hairbrush, a shoe, a spatula, and the belt. “Wait till your father gets home” was never spoken In our house, mom took care of it immediately.
Worse one was the SSP zip cord.
Still have nightmares…
That’s why mine magically disappeared, to hell with evil knievel as well.
Mother’s implement of doom was a switch. She damn near killed the maple tree in the front yard stripping limbs off of it.
Ha, I thought I was dying after every time
Jokari paddle (laminated wood, looked like a big pingpong paddle or midget tennis racket, but solid).
Hurt like heck hitting back of the thighs….
My mom was wicked as she was small. She was 5 feet tall. I was 5ft 10 inches at 16. I was the last in the family by 6 years and I played football and worked hard.
I finally got enough of her hitting me when I was 16 years old as I held her up off the ground by her arms straight out and said “stop hitting me and I wont hurt you” and after a few minutes of her kicking ending she stopped never to hit me again.
My mother used an an 18″ ruler until I got to about 6′ of her height. I then started to block her strikes with my forearm on her wrist. After the second or third time I did that she complained that I was “bruising” her. The next time she tried to wallop me with it, I took it away from her, snapped it into three pieces and handed it back to her without a word.
Are you speaking to us from the grave Nemo?
Bamboo pole(s)/reed(s) – we had a bamboo patch in t he back of the main lawn in the British Mansion where we lived (rented out to two GI families). Mom always had one handy in each room on the main floor. Just because.
You’d hear the whistle of the reed going through the air just before it hit you. Oh, and they were about 10′ long (high ceilings in the mansion!). No way to run fast enough.
Wooden spoon.
Yep, the wooden spoon was the inplement of choice. Mom was also quite skilled with a hairbrush, a shoe, a spatula, and the belt. “Wait till your father gets home” was never spoken In our house, mom took care of it immediately.
Worse one was the SSP zip cord.
Still have nightmares…
That’s why mine magically disappeared, to hell with evil knievel as well.
Mother’s implement of doom was a switch. She damn near killed the maple tree in the front yard stripping limbs off of it.
Ha, I thought I was dying after every time
Jokari paddle (laminated wood, looked like a big pingpong paddle or midget tennis racket, but solid).
Hurt like heck hitting back of the thighs….
My mom was wicked as she was small. She was 5 feet tall. I was 5ft 10 inches at 16. I was the last in the family by 6 years and I played football and worked hard.
I finally got enough of her hitting me when I was 16 years old as I held her up off the ground by her arms straight out and said “stop hitting me and I wont hurt you” and after a few minutes of her kicking ending she stopped never to hit me again.
My mother used an an 18″ ruler until I got to about 6′ of her height. I then started to block her strikes with my forearm on her wrist. After the second or third time I did that she complained that I was “bruising” her. The next time she tried to wallop me with it, I took it away from her, snapped it into three pieces and handed it back to her without a word.
Are you speaking to us from the grave Nemo?
Bamboo pole(s)/reed(s) – we had a bamboo patch in t he back of the main lawn in the British Mansion where we lived (rented out to two GI families). Mom always had one handy in each room on the main floor. Just because.
You’d hear the whistle of the reed going through the air just before it hit you. Oh, and they were about 10′ long (high ceilings in the mansion!). No way to run fast enough.